


No Requests

by Pear_Groject



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pear_Groject/pseuds/Pear_Groject
Summary: Robo "Dunkin' Frank" Ky couldn't wait to show off his latest mix, until an old "friend" drops by unannounced...
Kudos: 5





	No Requests

Robo “Dunkin’ Frank” Ky looked at the freshly pressed vinyl record in his hands, circuits buzzing with enthusiasm.

“This mix is sure to be a colossal hit, BZZRT!”

He walked over to the window and reflected on his suspiciously fragrant surroundings. He had always loved grandiose Illyria with its old, crusty architecture. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to drop the fattest bass. Suddenly, he saw something in the distance, or rather some _one_. It was the figure of Crow.

Crow was a gangly stick-man with invisible eyebrows and skinny fingers. Robo-Ky gulped, glancing at his own reflection in the vinyl’s shiny label. He was a malicious, selfish motor oil drinker with wide eyebrows and a chiseled jawline made of literal, actual steel. Because he’s a robot.

The populace at large saw him as a massive, mutated megaphone, but secretly, his tin-can of a torso housed a glimmering heart of gold. Once, he had saved a baby magehound that was stuck in a sewage drain.

But not even he was prepared for what Crow had in store today.

The thunder roared like a choir made of agitated lions, making Robo-Ky pissed as all hell. As Robo-Ky stepped outside and Crow came closer, he could see the rank smile on his face. Crow glared with all the wrath of 4,132 pretentious snakes; Pretentious snakes who just finished watching a _mainstream movie._ He said, in hushed tones, “I hate you... and I want a hit song.”

Robo-Ky looked back, even more pissed than before. His grip on the tightest mix to ever be produced in all of Illyrian history tightened as his cheap lightbulb eyes darkened, quite literally. 

“Crow, your beats are wack.” he replied.

They looked at each other with complex feelings, like two ex-friends dancing at a very forgetful royal rap-off with blown-out speakers. Suddenly, Crow lunged forward and tried to punch Robo-Ky in the face. Robo-Ky took the record, his pride and joy...the sickest record he had ever produced... and crashed it down into Crow’s skull. Crow’s invisible eyebrows trembled and his skinny fingers wobbled. He looked nervous, his emotions raw and unseasoned. He then let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground.

Moments later Crow was dead.

Dunkin Frank went back inside and made himself a tall glass of motor oil, the world finally free from the control of his ex-manager’s awful taste in music.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to accurately convey the tension felt between these two after their falling out post-Combustion Dance days.


End file.
